


Getaway

by Rose_of_Pollux



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:08:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27673148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_of_Pollux/pseuds/Rose_of_Pollux
Summary: [Ficlit, slice-of-life] Some post-mission downtime in England allows Illya to prepare the perfect gift for Napoleon. [Dedicated to Robert Vaughn]
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin & Napoleon Solo
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	Getaway

**Author's Note:**

> This is my annual fic for Robert Vaughn’s birthday; this time, it’s a short slice-of-life piece, which was all I could manage given the amount of things going on this month. Still, it’s short and sweet!

Illya abhorred the idea of a materialistic life—it just didn’t make sense to him at all.

“All this ‘buy, buy, buy’ and ‘spend, spend, spend’ they go on about…” he’d muttered to himself. “So wasteful. So… _trite_!”

It did not help things, however, that Napoleon’s birthday fell in the heart of the holiday shopping craze; even with his convictions, Illya often felt the pressure to buy Napoleon something nice and expensive with all of the tantalizing offers that Macy’s held within its vast interior.

So far, Illya had managed to resist—instead thinking outside of the box to give his partner gifts that were meaningful to him, regardless of how much they cost. But each year, it got more and more challenging—especially as the shopping craze only seemed to increase year after year.

And Illya was dismayed to find out that, across the pond, things didn’t seem any different. It wasn’t Macy’s, no—but their mission in London, which was promising to wrap up the day before Napoleon’s birthday, gave Illya plenty of opportunity to see the advertisements for Harrods’ latest holiday sales.

 _Wonderful. It’s taking over the world_ , he sighed internally.

And yet, he knew his options were limited—especially since it was looking as though they would have to spend Napoleon’s birthday flying back to New York. That left very little opportunity for Illya to treat Napoleon to a birthday meal, as he endeavored to do—food, in his mind, was not a waste of money, providing they weren’t talking about gold-dusted chocolates or gold-flaked cheeses—which were, vexingly enough, things Illya had seen after accompanying Napoleon to some high-society parties (he had, just barely, managed to hold his tongue for the sake of not wanting to embarrass Napoleon by launching into a rant, though, judging by Napoleon’s refusal to partake in those particular items, Illya hoped that meant that Napoleon would’ve agreed with him if he had done so).

Napoleon, despite liking fine things, knew where to draw the line, refusing to cross into wasteful extravagance. And Illya knew that Napoleon prized his heartfelt gifts over the expensive trinkets he received from others for his birthday—and though he would highly prize even an expensive trinket from Illya, solely because it was _from_ Illya, Illya was still determined not to fall into the retail trap.

But this year, away from home and looking at a long journey back, Illya was beginning to wonder if there was no other alternative this time.

…No. No, there had to be! There simply had to be! Here they were, in a land full of history, and Illya would have to resort to that? A land that was the birthplace of Chaucer, Lord Byron, Shakespeare…

Illya’s thoughts came to a screeching halt.

_Of course—Shakespeare!_

A triumphant grin crossed Illya’s face as the pieces of an idea began to come together in his mind.

*******************************

It was a genius plan, Illya later congratulated himself. He had told Napoleon that he would see to their transportation back home, and Napoleon was more than glad to let him handle it.

After procuring some time off for the both of them from Waverly, Illya proceeded to get a rental car and load all of their luggage into it.

Napoleon didn’t suspect a thing, assuming that they were heading for Heathrow and the late flight back to New York. It was already night, and Napoleon, eager to rest after their mission, had also been more than glad to snooze in the car and let Illya do the driving, expecting him to wake him once they arrived at the airport.

And so Illya kept driving—driving past the way to the airport, letting Napoleon continue to sleep, unaware of his partner’s plans. It was sometime later that Napoleon felt his partner giving his shoulder a shove.

“Alright, alright,” he said, yawning and stretching his arms before opening his eyes. “I’ll help get the luggage…”

He trailed off, staring at the sight around them—the simple streets, so unlike the bustling boulevards of London, laden with old, wooden buildings, including one large, half-timbered building.

“…This is not Heathrow,” Napoleon said, after a moment.

“No, it is not,” Illya said, calmly, watching Napoleon’s reaction out of the corner of his eye.

Napoleon continued to look around, getting his bearings in the dark—and he paused to stare at the half-timbered building.

“…Illya, is this Stratford-upon-Avon?” he asked.

“Why, yes, it is,” Illya said, casually.

Napoleon stopped to internalize that fact for a moment before indicating the half-timbered building.

“And that would be…”

“…The house where William Shakespeare was born, yes,” Illya finished for him. “I took the liberty of booking a long weekend off for the both of us here at Stratford-upon-Avon—I have already taken care of the reservations, of course, but I shall let you decide our itinerary for our stay here.”

“Really!?”

“Of course—it seemed far more enjoyable than celebrating your special day on a flight with champagne of limited quality,” Illya said, and then he smiled, checking his watch to check that it was, in fact, midnight. “Happy birthday, Napoleon.”

Napoleon’s eyes were practically shining as he looked at the house, and then the streets around them, before looking back to his partner.

“You know, every year, I wonder how you’re going to manage to stick to your convictions,” Napoleon admitted.

“I had a feeling you did,” Illya said. “It is why I always endeavored to do so.”

“Yeah, I knew that you knew that I knew,” Napoleon smirked. “But I imagine it must get harder every year.”

“That, it does,” Illya admitted, with a sigh. “The advertisers don’t help, either, flaunting their ‘ideal gifts.’”

“Yeah, I saw Harrods,” Napoleon mused. But then, he sobered. “You know you don’t have to do this, right? You don’t have to get me anything. Even if it was just us having dinner somewhere, I’d love that. And I don’t even need _that_! Just being able to enjoy your company is all I need.”

Illya smiled.

“I am well aware of that, Napoleon, trust me,” he said. “But, for one thing, I enjoy the challenge.”

“Yeah, I figured that, too,” Napoleon mused. “Is there another thing?”

“Yes, there is,” Illya replied. “That look on your face once the realization sunk in as to where we were? That was something that I could not get with just some expensive purchase from one of those department stores.”

Napoleon just grinned, and glanced back around at the sight.

“…I couldn’t have asked for anything better, Illya,” he said, sincerely. “And tomorrow, I’m going to take you on a walking tour of this place.”

Illya smiled.

“There’s a run of _The Merry Wives of Windsor_ by the Royal Shakespeare Company,” he added.

“Oh, I fully intend for that to be on the itinerary,” Napoleon assured him. He let out a quiet sigh. “Ah, if only I had my tights and Hamlet costume…”

“You mean you don’t pack those with you wherever you go?” Illya teased.

“Oddly enough, no, I don’t,” Napoleon mused. “But, perhaps, I’d better start. And, anyway, I’m sure that here, of all places, I can procure a costume of some sort.”

“Oh, I have no doubt of your ability to achieve your quest,” Illya said. “Why do you think I had the idea to bring you here? With how dramatic you can get, I knew this would be the perfect place for you.”

But Napoleon just grinned.

“That’s me,” he said, with pride.

“…It certainly is,” Illya said, unable to keep a trace of fondness from sneaking into his voice in spite of himself. “And I am grateful for it.”

Napoleon now looked back at him again with an equal amount of fondness.

“Thanks. And I’m grateful that you’re you, too,” he said, sincerely.

Illya managed another smile.

“Thank you, too,” Illya said. “Now, shall I take us to the inn? We can get a good night’s rest and be ready for our Shakespearean adventure tomorrow.”

“‘ _Why, right; you are i' the right_ ,’” Napoleon quoted from his favorite play.

And Illya drove off to the inn, glad to have given his partner a gift that had meant so much.


End file.
